‘I can’t think why I said that,’ said Catherine, looking first at her and then at Stephen, lost in surprise at herself, her cheeks flushed.
‘So natural, so natural,’ Mrs. Colquhoun assured her; to which Stephen, desirous of doing his best, added, ‘Very proper.’
That night in their bedroom Stephen said to Virginia: ‘Your mother misses your father.’
Virginia looked at him with startled eyes. ‘Oh? Do you think so, Stephen? Why?’ she asked, turning red; for how dreadful if her mother had felt, had noticed, that she and Stephen.... Yet why else should she suddenly begin to miss....
‘Because she said so.’
Virginia stood looking at Stephen, the comb with which she was combing out her long dark hair suspended. It wasn’t natural to begin all over again missing her father. Her mother wouldn’t have if she hadn’t noticed.... How dreadful. She would so much hate her to be hurt. Poor mother. Yet what could she do? Stephen, and his peace and happiness, did come first. Except that she couldn’t imagine such expressions applied to either of them, she did feel as if she were between the devil and the deep sea.
‘Do you think—do you suppose——’ she faltered.
‘It is not, is it my darling, altogether flattering to us,’ said Stephen.
‘Oh, Stephen—yes—I know you’ve done all you could. You’ve been wonderful——’
She put down the comb and went across to him, and he enfolded her in his arms.